Might Find It
by Sanguinary
Summary: Talking to strange people is not a good idea. They just might end up being something you didn't expect. Or didn't want.


TITLE: Might Find It  
AUTHOR: Sanguinary  
COPYRIGHT: Feb. 28, 2001  
DISTRIBUTION: Ask and ye shall receive.  
RATING: R   
CATEGORY: Horror   
IMPROV: Flow, Rave, Blue, Fall  
SPOILERS: General Buffy/Angel spoilers  
DISCLAIMER: Joss and the WB own both Buffy and Angel. Not me.  
FEEDBACK: Most excellent! Send it care of: Sanguinary_515@hotmail.com   
SUMMARY: Talking to strange people is not a good idea. They just might end up being something   
you didn't expect. Or didn't want.  
  
  
~  
  
Hey there, where you going?   
  
Come over here. I've got a little tale to tell.  
  
So, you come to this place, looking for a real vampire? You've got yourself one.  
  
Am I lying? Does my face look like I'm lying?  
  
Why do afraid? Does the truth frighten you? Or is it just my face? My gold eyes and my brow?   
Pay no mind child.   
  
Oh, you're trembling like a leaf and you still want to ask my something. Well why not.   
  
One question dear. Make it good.  
  
You want to know what death is to me? Excellent question. There may be more than stuffing in   
that skull of yours.  
  
Art.  
  
Yes. Art. You need an example? I've got plenty.   
  
A cut throat is a thing of beauty. The way the blood trails down the throat, leaving red lines.   
The sluggish flow as the heart slows down and begins to stop. A smile born between two ripped   
pieces of skin looks up at me.   
  
And the sound of bones breaking is like breakfast cereal. Snap, crackle and pop they go. Sharp   
white poking though flesh, like wires sticking out of a car seat.   
  
You can use the human body for many things. Entrails make wonderful skipping ropes if drying   
properly. Eyeballs can be marbles and they can be appetizers. A bladder becomes a balloon, a   
heart the main course. The skull can be a paper weight, a goblet or a candy dish. A ribcage is   
good for a bird cage and if you separate the vertebra in the spine, you can play tiddley-winks.   
Human skin can bind books, create a waterproof jacket, or make a tablecloth. You can make a   
necklace out of teeth. And ropes from their hair.   
  
But the chase is the most fun. Watching them run, listening to their hearts pound and their   
breath come in short gasps. The steady pound of their feet against the ground and the shish of   
their skin against the air. And when they stumble, when they trip and fall to the ground in a   
boneless heap, it is so fun to watch them try to get back up.  
  
When you pounce, feeling your body become one with the predatory instinct inside, when you   
scream, it is heaven. The stink of fear and pain from the prey is intoxicating and inticing,   
urging you to bite in their firm skin and tear them apart, bit by bit.  
  
And the look on their face. Oh the look of terror and pain, mixed with the realization that   
they are going to die. That they are just like every other piece of flesh on the planet. The   
knowledge that their God or Goddess does not give a shit about them. Now that is something that   
can't be bottled up and shared. It's a treat that only the prey and predator ever know.   
  
The kill is sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but it is always different. Some prey give up right   
way, some fight right to the end. Some beg, some deny, some accept. Some welcome my embrace   
while others scream as they try to free themselves. But it's always new and it's always real.  
  
I've done everything one can to a human body. I've eaten it, scared it, kept it, pulled it to   
pieces, buried it, everything. I've floated in pools of blood so deep that I couldn't touch the   
bottom. I've been covered in piles of rotting flesh and pus. I've waited beside a decomposing   
body until there was nothing left of it but dust. And I've felt flesh turn from warm to cold in   
my arms. Skin that turns from pink to blue to green as time goes by.   
  
I've killed humans and I've killed demons. Everything that can be killed, I have killed. When   
you're immortal, time just flies. And you can do anything.  
  
Anything.   
  
Sometimes, I choose a person. And then, I track them down.   
  
Slowly.   
  
I kill their family one by one, leaving piece for them to find. A father's head stuck on the   
garden post. A brothers hand wedged inside a sister's head, his fingers poking out though the   
eyesockets. A mother's torso left in their closet, the organs emptied out and a dead child   
inside.  
  
Why?   
  
Why do I kill without reason? Why to I beat and main? Why do I feast upon corpses and fill   
myself with their blood? Why do I stand here, frighting you? Why?  
  
Because. I. Can.  
  
And that, my dear victim, is why I love being a vampire.  
  
I could rave about this all night long.   
  
But I'm too hungry.  
  
And you're looking mighty tasty, dear child.  
  
Mighty tasty.  
  
~ 


End file.
